Chapter 14
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
Mira
“Oh, hell, Mira,” Miles says, sighing through the speakerphone. “This Thursday? You can’t wait another week?”
I lean against the back porch of Markie’s house with a margarita in one hand, my phone in the other. I didn’t have a ton of faith that my brother would call me back promptly after I left him a message this afternoon. Having the margarita already at my disposal is just luck of the draw.
Miles’s reaction to my news is about what I expected from him. He was surprised, to say the least. “You were the last person I thought would call to tell me they were getting married.” But he also really didn’t care.
That’s just Miles.
“Nope,” I say. “The church is booked, and Lolly has flowers coming. But it’s really not a big deal if you can’t make it.”
Although I know what’s coming, I brace myself for it anyway.
“Yeah, I don’t think that there’s any way that I can make it,” he says. “I mean, I just started this new job, and they’re sending me to Berlin for a week. I leave in the morning. If I would’ve known a few days ago, I could’ve tried to rearrange things.”
I bet you would’ve, too.
Even the voice in my head is snarky.
“Well, if I would’ve known a few days ago, I would’ve given you a better heads-up,” I say, pausing to take a sip of my drink. “But Hartley and I just want to do it quickly and simply, and this Thursday worked out. I didn’t expect you to come.”
“Aw, Mira. Don’t say it like that.”
I roll my eyes. Like what, Miles? Like you’re brother of the damn year?
Miles has always been a part of my sister’s and my life to some degree.
When Dad was alive, he’d come every summer for the entire duration of it, and most holidays, too.
But once Dad died, Miles’s mom wasn’t too interested in ensuring he maintained a relationship with his half sisters.
He came around a little bit until Grandpa, Dad’s father, died.
After that, despite having our grandfather’s house in Sugar Creek willed to him, Miles didn’t come around much.
That house is still in Miles’s name. At least he rents it out now and doesn’t just let it rot to the ground.
“I didn’t say it like anything,” I say as neutrally as possible. “I’m just saying that it’s a spur-of-the-moment decision, and I know you’re busy. That’s all.”
“I hope that’s what you mean because I would’ve loved to be there.”
Sure. “Well, I hope you have fun in Berlin and that it’s a successful trip for you.”
“I’m sure it will be. And I hope this wedding is beautiful and that it makes you happy. You sound happy tonight.”
I make a face. I do? Pausing to give that a thought, I determine that Miles just really doesn’t know me well enough to know when I sound any which way.
“I am happy,” I say because I think that’s what a bride should say—not that they’re trying to figure out how to make everyone believe they’re in love.
“Good. I’ll keep my eye out for pictures online.”
My stomach roils as I consider that pictures will be posted of Hartley and me online. In a church. In front of a pastor.
At least posterity will remember that I pulled in a gorgeous husband.
“You do that,” I say. “Have a nice trip and … yeah. Good luck.”
“Good luck to you. And congrats, Mira.”
“Thanks. Bye, Miles.”
“Goodbye.”
I punch the red button to end the call, then down half of my drink.
The rim is salty, and the tequila is very agave-forward.
It burns as it goes down, but I kind of like it.
It somehow clarifies my brain … or tricks me into thinking that’s what’s happening.
Either way, it’s a nice change from the chaos that’s overtaken my mind all day.
My phone screen dims, and I stare at it as it darkens.
“Yeah, I don’t think that there’s any way that I can make it.”
I was prepared for that response from my brother—the odds of him showing up were about ten out of a hundred—but there must’ve been a tiny piece of me hidden in the depths of my heart that had a small flicker of hope that I was wrong.
Because as the cool night breeze stings my heated cheeks, I can’t help but acknowledge the tenderness in my chest.
Having him there wouldn’t have changed anything for better or worse. But it would’ve felt nice. Even though it’s not a real wedding, he doesn’t know that, and it would’ve been really sweet to have him there to support me.
A wave of emotion rises inside me, and I try to sniffle it away.
The only people who care enough to come to my pretend wedding are my sister and my grandmother—the woman responsible for this mayhem.
That’s my doing. It’s my fault for not connecting with anyone on a level to which they’d feel excited to come to the arguably biggest event of a person’s life … even if it’s for pretend.
And I’ve never noticed or cared until now.
I down the rest of my drink and pick up my phone.
Me: Hi.
His response comes right away.
Hartley: Hi.
A smile touches my lips. Somehow, his two-letter greeting eases the sting in my chest.
Me: What are you doing?
Hartley: Feeding Pigasso.
A picture of the piglet smiling up at the camera pops up on my screen. It makes me laugh.
Me: I knew you’d be friends.
Hartley: I figured we may as well become friendly since you’d forget to try to find a rescue.
Me: Oops.
Hartley:
Me: In my defense, I have had a lot going on over the past few days. I’m getting married, you know.
Hartley: I heard about that.
Me: Did you?
Hartley: Sure did. From every damn person I saw this evening. The people who I didn’t see? I heard it via text.
My laughter grows louder as I wonder how many people that includes.
Hartley: I was thinking that it might quiet down the locals a bit if I took my fiancée on a date before our wedding. They’ve never really seen us together, and it might take some wind out of their speculation.
I take a seat at the little table Markie keeps on the back deck as my body begins to tingle. I’m sure it’s from the tequila. But tequila doesn’t usually make me smile like this.
Me: That makes sense. It might be good for your fiancée, too. It’d be a practice run, if you will.
Hartley: There’s gonna be a band in the park tomorrow evening around six. They have live music there every Tuesday unless it rains. Wanna go?
Me: Sounds fun.
Hartley: I’ll pick you up at 5:45.
Me: I’ll see you then.
Hartley: See you then, Mira.
I stare at his message until the screen locks.
It’s wild how safe and dangerous he feels at the same time. I don’t know if my pulse is warning me away from this, or if it wants to gallop toward him.
Probably both.
“Keep your eyes on the prize,” I say, heading inside the house. “This is to satisfy an inheritance. Nothing more. Keep your damn heart out of it.”
The door swings shut behind me, echoing through the night.